You're a Witch, Ms Granger
by shana852963
Summary: We all know what a shock it was for eleven-year old Harry to find out he was a wizard, but what about Hermione's reaction when she first received her Hogwarts letters?


Eleven-year old Hermione Granger absentmindedly pulled on her socks while she read through _Turning Points in English Cell Theory_, the latest library book that had come under her nose. She had been reading it for the past two days and hadn't been able to put it down since. After she had slid on her shoes, she tore her eyes away from the pages of her book and glanced at the clock on her bedside table and saw that she would have to start heading to school shortly. Quickly finishing off her paragraph, she regretfully shut the book and stuffed it in her already packed shoulder bag and started downstairs to the kitchen.

Her parents were already up and dressed for work. Her father was reading the paper while her mum was sliding three plates of eggs onto the table.

"Morning, sweetheart," her mother said as Hermione took her seat.

"Morning," she replied, taking a bite of her eggs.

"Looks like this cold front's going to keep up for the rest of the week," her father said, setting down his paper and taking a swing of his coffee. "Shame, I was hoping we could close the office for a bit and take a holiday down to the shore."

"There's always the spring," his wife reminded him. She looked at her watch. "Oh, dear, we need to get going. I've got to tighten Ms. Lin's daughter's braces and you have that root canal."

"Ah, right, nearly forgot," he said, taking a few quick bites of his eggs. "You should probably be off too, Hermione. School starts in twenty minutes."

Hermione nodded, taking a drink of her orange juice.

"We'll be home a little late today," her mother told her. "Probably close to six. We'll pick up some dinner on the way home."

"Make sure you pick up the mail when you get home," her father said. "It's been coming here later and later each day."

"I will," Hermione assured him. She finished off her breakfast, swung her bag over her shoulder and bid her parents goodbye before heading out the door.

The primary school she attended was only a few blocks away, so it was only a ten-minute walk. She passed the groups of students standing in front of the school, huddled together and talking among their friends. Hermione tried not to look at them as she headed into the school to sit at her desk so she could read alone until the first bell rang.

It wasn't as though she didn't have _any _friends. There were a handful of students she talked to every now and again. Though, she supposed those were more of acquaintances than friends, for their conversations never ranged from more than a few sentences and they really only showed a interest in talking with her when it came time to chose project partners. And then of course, there were the students who saw her bushy hair, horribly crooked teeth and astounding intelligence as clear invitations to mock her. Hermione knew better than to let the jeers get to her, but she didn't deny that whenever something would happen to her teasers shortly after they would make a comment about her that she felt a sense of happiness. It was a little bizarre, actually. It seemed whenever one of those students would do something to her, later on that day, something would happen to them. That one time Leslie McAlister called her a bush-headed know it all, an hour later during science, Leslie's baking soda and vinegar volcano exploded all over her new boots. And when Theodore Salazar "accidentally" knocked her history textbook into a puddle, he somehow wound up with his trainers glued to the floor of the cafeteria and had to have them cut up in order be freed.

Now she knew there had to be a logical explanation for these occurrences; Leslie had probably gone and added too much baking soda to her volcano and Theodore had probably stepped in a large was of gum, but nonetheless, it always made her feel better.

That day at school went by just like every other day, she made exactly five corrections to her teacher's lecture, as politely as she could, of course, read her Cell Theory book under her desk while the other students finished the literature novel she had completed weeks ago, and she sat by herself at the end of the lunch table, nose in the same book.

When the final bell rang, she buttoned her coat and walked back home while the other students ran off towards the parks with their friends.

Arriving back at the empty house, Hermione picked up the pile of mail that was waiting for on the front welcome mat. Hanging up her coat and bag, she looked through the pile as she went into the kitchen, taking a sugar-free biscuit from the plate her mum had left out. There were the usual bills, a few advertisements, a letter from her father's old friend in Germany, and at the bottom of the pile was a rather stuffed looking envelope made from very old parchment. Hermione frowned as she further examined this letter. It was addressed to her: _Ms. Hermione Granger, 452 East Greenbrook Road. _She turned it over and saw that unlike every other letter, it was sealed with a wax symbol of what looked like a coat of arms with a lion, snake, badger and eagle. She turned it back over, hoping to find a return addresses, but there was none. There wasn't even a stamp on it.

_Who in the world could this be from?_ She thought to herself. She contemplated whether or not to open the envelope.

_It _does_ have my name on it_, she reasoned. _And what harm could come from just seeing what's inside. _

Carefully breaking the wax seal, Hermione opened the letter and pulled out the first sheet

_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins September 1 of next year. We await your return owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours Sincerely, _

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

_Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry? _Hermione scanned the letter again. She had never heard of such a place.

_Well of course I've never heard of it_, she told herself. _A school of witchcraft and wizardry? That's absurd! There's no such thing as witchcraft, everyone knows that. _

But then what was this letter? Had somebody put it through her mail slot as a prank?

_That's the only explanation_, she figured. _Must be someone from school_.

Feeling a bit uprooted knowing that one of her classmates had gone to such trouble to prank her, Hermione pulled out the second sheet of paper. It had listed all sorts of bizarre objects that she would need for this fictional school.

"A pewter standard size 2 cauldron?" she read, disbelievingly. "A wand?" Clearly this person had put a lot of effort into this prank to come up with this list of supplies. Most outrageous, though, was the list of course books. The titles were actually very well thought out. _Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1), The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_…If she hadn't known better, she'd have thought this list was very convincing.

"What a waste of time," Hermione mumbled, crumpling up the sheets of paper and the envelope. She spent the rest of her afternoon finishing off her Cell Theory book and starting her next one: _A Ten Step Guide to Gaining Acceptance at Oxford_. Her parents arrived home shortly after the sky began to darken.

"I stopped by the market and picked up a nice, hot chicken," her mother said, setting a steaming bag on the table. "Did anyone ring here?"

"No, but I put the mail on the kitchen counter," Hermione replied, marking her page in her book as her father began to set out glasses for the family. "How was work?"

"Oh the usual," he said, beginning to leaf through the mail. "Performed a few root canals, filled a couple of cavities…just glad your mother got all of the brace work today. If there's one thing I don't enjoy, it's having to tell patients they'll be needing to wear them for another year."

"Which reminds me, dear, you'll have to come in so we can begin fitting you for some," her mother said.

"Anything exciting happen to you then?" her father asked, starting to carve the chicken.

Hermione thought back to the strange envelope that someone had left her as a prank.

"No," she said firmly. "Nothing at all."

…

The next day when Hermione got home from school, there was another pile of mail waiting for her on the front mat. She sifted through the credit card statements and the telephone bill and there again, at the bottom of the pile, was the same old-fashioned envelope that she had opened yesterday.

_Who would pull the same prank two days in a row? _Hermione thought, looking at the same wax seal that accompanied the letter the day before. _Perhaps whomever it was that sent me the letter was upset that I didn't say anything about it at school. Yes…they must just want to see me react. Well, they'll be sending letters for a very long time then. _

Without even opening the letter, Hermione tossed it into the rubbish bag under the kitchen sink. Wanting to get the letter as far away from her as possible, she tied up the bag and lugged it to the can by the curb of her house.

"Afternoon there, Hermione!" he neighbor, Mr. Alden called to her from across the street.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Alden," she called back politely. "How are your orchids doing?"

"Beautifully, after I switched them to that fancy new fertilizer," he replied. "You know, you and your folks missed the damnest thing this morning."

"What was that?"

"An owl was flying though here," Mr. Alden told her. "Never saw one in my life. Thought those things only came out in the dark."

"Yes, they're nocturnal," Hermione nodded. "They're eyes are build especially for hunting in the dark. Of course, if its habitat had recently been disturbed, I'd suspect that it would maybe be flying around during the day to-"

"Thing kept circling your place," he cut her off.

"That's very odd," Hermione said. "Perhaps it managed to spot a field mouse in the grass."

"Who knows," the man shrugged. "I went back inside to get my camera, but when I came back out, it was gone."

"It must've gotten frightened," Hermione said. "Mr. Alden, did you happen to see anyone drop a letter through our mail slot today or yesterday?"

"You mean besides the postman?"

"Yes, other than him," Hermione nodded.

"Nope, though I haven't been out too much," he said. "Haven't been doing much gardening since my grandson left his skateboard in my sitting room and I tripped and hurt my back."

"I hope you feel better then," Hermione told him.

…..

That next morning Hermione had awoke early. She padded down to the kitchen where her mother was still in her dressing gown, eating a piece of toast.

"It looks a bit rainy today," her mother commented. "I don't think you should be walking to school in this weather; your father and I will drive you to school."

"That's okay," Hermione yawned. "I think the rain will hold off until at least ten. And if not, I have my umbrella."

"Well, alright," she nodded. "But if it's raining hard when you're getting ready to leave the school, use the telephone in the front office and ring over for your father or I to come and pick you up."

"Alright," she promised.

"Mail finally came before we left for work," Mr. Granger said, straightening his tie as he walked into the kitchen with the pile of mail.

He looked though it. "Well, these certainly look interesting." He held up three of the same letters Hermione had been receiving for the past two days.  
She nearly choked on her porridge as her father handed them to her.

"Those look like parchment envelopes," her mother said. "I didn't know people still used them today. I wonder what they're for."

"They're just rubbish," Hermione said quickly, making to get up and toss the letters. "I've already opened one I got earlier this week."

"Pretty fancy stationary for rubbish," her father chuckled, picking up one of the letters and examining it closer. "Why, it's even got an old-fashioned wax seal on the back."

"What was inside, Hermione?" her mother asked, curious.

"It was just some joke letter," Hermione told them. "Some sort of advertisement for a school."

"A school?" Mr. Granger repeated. "I'd have thought you'd have been excited for that."

"It's not a real school, dad," Hermione told him. "Open the letter yourself, you'll see what I mean."

"If you insist," he said. He pulled out the first sheet of parchment, quickly glancing over it. "A school of witchcraft and wizardry?" he read. "Well this makes it seem as though our daughter is a witch, Abigail."

He was grinning, as though he thought the whole thing to be quite amusing.

"What in the world?" her mother said, taking the letter from her husband. "Hogwarts? Where did this letter come from?"

"From somebody's who has a very stale sense of humor," Hermione said dryly. "To think somebody would be gullible enough to believe that."

"Oh you'd be surprised what people would believe," her father told her.

…

Over the next several days, these letters kept pouting into the Granger household. Half a dozen letters would be waiting each morning on the doormat, and even more when Hermione would arrive home from school, and still more would be sitting there when her parents would get back from work. Soon the letters began finding their way into the house in different manners. Mrs. Granger found a fresh stack in the dishwasher one morning, Mr. Granger's car would not start from the five letters that were crammed into the engine, and Hermione had even awoken to at least thirty on her bedroom floor. Mrs. Granger had called the police, worried that someone had been sneaking into the house to deposit the letters, but after a thorough check of all the locks on the doors and windows, the officers confirmed that there were no signs of forced entry into the dwellings.

"This is getting absolutely ridiculous," Mr. Granger said one morning after finding several letters crammed into his slippers. "Where are all these letters coming from?"

"The postman insists he knows nothing of it," Mrs. Granger sighed. "I don't know what to do. They don't seem to be harmful, but all the same…"

When Hermione left for school that morning, she was still trying to figure out how exactly those letters had found their way into the carton of mil her mother had just purchased from the market. She was so deep in thought that she almost tripped over a cat that had been sleeping at the edge of the walkway.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said, bending down to pet the creature as it gave an indignant hiss. It had unusual markings around its eyes, she noticed. They looked almost like glasses…

Since none of her neighbors had any cats, Hermione figured it to be a stray, and she made a mental note to put out a saucer of milk for it when she got home, if it was still there.

The cat was in fact there when she returned, sitting in the same exact place, unmoving.

"There you are," Hermione said, placing the saucer in front of the animal. "You must be famished."

The cat gave her a careful look, as though it were surveying her, and then cautiously approached the milk and gave it a sniff before it began to lap it up.

Inside, Hermione was hardly surprised at the pile of about fifty letters sitting on the doormat. She simply tossed them all before starting on her homework project that was due in two weeks that had just been assigned. She was just finishing when her parents arrived.

"Can't believe that bloody cat's still sitting out there," her father said, hanging up his coat. "It hasn't moved since I left for work."

"If it hasn't moved by the time we go to bed, I'll call Mrs. Hampton from the next block," Mrs. Granger said. "She has plenty of cats on her own and knows all about them. The poor creature might be hurt."

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.  
"Who would be calling now?" her father frowned as he headed over to answer it.

"Maybe we'll finally get to catch a glance of the person who's been leaving all the letters," Mrs. Granger said hopefully.

Hermione, curious as to whether this might be true, followed her father to the door.

Standing outside was a thin, tall woman with her hair pulled tightly back into a bun wearing a very odd green dress.

"Good evening," she said smoothly. "I am correct in saying that this is the Granger residence?"

"Er, yes," Mr. Granger nodded. "How can I help you?"

"My name is Minerva McGonagall," the woman said. "And I would like to have a word with you about your daughter, Hermione Granger."

Minerva McGonagall…the name range a bell in Hermione's mind.

"You're the lady from the letters!" she said.

McGonagall showed a faint smile. "Yes, I am."

"So you're the one who has been sending those?" Mr. Granger asked. "Might I ask why you've been sending them so…persistently?"

"If I could have a moment of your time, I'd be able to explain to you everything, Mr. Granger," McGonagall said professionally. "May I please come in?"

Mr. Granger reluctantly let the woman in the house.

"Hello," Mrs. Granger said slowly, frowning as she laid eyes on the stranger in her house. She turned to her husband for an explanation.

"This is Minera-" he started. "Er, sorry, I didn't quite catch your name. She's says that she's the one responsible for all those letters we've been getting."

"Is she?" Mrs. Granger frowned.

"Yes, good evening, Mrs. Granger," McGonagall said, extending a hand. "As you've read from the several letters you've been receiving, I am the deputy headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"But that's not a real place," Hermione spoke up. "I've looked up every credited school in England and this Hogwarts was nowhere to be found."

"My wife and I," Mr. Granger said, looking at McGonagall as though he didn't know whether to think she was dangerous or crazy. "Are very curious to know why exactly you have been contacting our daughter from some made up school."

McGonagall sighed. "Yes…we often run into these problems with students from muggle families. It's completely understandable, though it does take quite a bit of explaining. I've been watching the house throughout the day, trying to find the best time to talk with you three. It _will _take some time to sink in."

So many questions were spinning around in Hermione's head. What were muggles? How had this woman been watching her house? And exactly _what _would take some time to sink in?

"I don't mean to sound rude," Mrs. Granger said. "But we would simply like for you to stop sending Hermione these letters. I don't know what exactly you were trying to prove with them, but it's gone on long enough."

"Your daughter's name has been down for Hogwarts for just over eleven years," McGonagall said calmly. "Which is why-"

"Her name couldn't be down for a fictional school," Mr. Granger said.

"Hogwarts is _not _a fictional school, Mr. Granger," McGonagall told him. "It's among the top ranked wizarding institutions for study in Europe where hundreds of young witches and wizards are taught all of the essential skills to succeed in the magical world."

"Magical world?" Mrs. Granger repeated, almost laughing. "Mam, I'm very sorry, but clearly you're mistaken. There's no such thing as magic, and no such school for witches and wizards."

Hermione was beginning to wonder whether this woman was disturbed. She had once seen an old man on the underground with her parents who had insisted that the government was plotting a hostile take over of the oil reserves and that they were all soon doomed. Her parents had explained to her shortly after that he was not mentally stable and was delusional, living in a made up world inside his own head. Perhaps Hogwarts and magic were simply figments of this woman's own universe. But this woman was speaking so knowingly and professionally that Hermione had a hard time believing that she was not perfectly sane.

"Witches and wizards have been in England for hundreds of years," McGonagall explained. "They stay hidden from muggles, which is why you've not known of their existence."

"What's a muggle?" Hermione couldn't help but ask.

"A person who does not possess any magical ability," she answered at once. "Such as your parents. You, on the other hand, do possess such abilities, which is why you've been offered admission at Hogwarts."

"Abilities?" Hermione frowned. "No, I'm sorry, but I don't have any magical abilities. Nobody does. Witches and wizards are just parts of fairy tales."

"You do have them," McGonagall told her gently. "You're a witch, Ms. Granger."

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or be offended by this statement. She looked up at her parents, who both looked very confused.

"I think maybe it would be best if you left now," her mother said softly. "I'd be happy to drive you back to your home." Clearly, her mother thought this woman's home was the closed ward of the local hospital.

"I _did_ tell you it would take time for this to sink in," McGonagall said. She turned back to Hermione. "Now, Ms. Granger, I'd suspect this news to come as quite a shock to you-"

"Well, yes, but it's not true," Hermione said logically. "I'm not a witch."

"Please think, Ms. Granger," McGonagall said patiently. "Has anything ever happened, something that you could not explain?"

Hermione thought…well, there had been all those times at school, when the students who had made fun of her would suddenly have something unpleasant happen to them. And then there was that one time when she was eight and had gotten her new kite tangled beyond saving in the five-story high tree in her backyard. She had been thinking of how badly she was going to miss that kite when suddenly it was at her feet, untangled and new looking. And what about that time when she had been crossing at the cross walk a few years ago and a speeding car had turned the corner and had been heading straight for her; she had closed her eyes, preparing for the worst, but when she opened them seconds later, it was as if the car was moving in slow motion, and she was able to run back to the sidewalk, unharmed.

She shook her head. Of course those things had nothing to do with magic! No, she was sure there were perfectly reasonable, logical explanations for all of them.

"Still skeptical, I see?" McGonagall said, nodded. "Yes, I suspected you'd be a tough one to convince, Ms. Granger. Perhaps a little demonstration…"

She reached into her long sleeves and pulled out a thin looking object. She pointed it at an empty chair a few feet away and gave it a little wave. At once, the chair began to levitate into the air. Her mother let out a scream, her father's eyes widened and her own jaw dropped.

"A simple levitating charm," McGonagall said, flicking her wand again so the chair returned to its place on the ground. "You'll be learning it shortly after you arrive at Hogwarts."

Hermione stared at the chair. It simply wasn't possible. But then how could she explain the chair? She could see that there were no strings attached to it.

"I-I still am not a witch," she said weakly.

"Hogwarts doesn't make mistakes," McGonagall told her. "But if you need to see more magic…"

And in a blink of an eye the body of McGonagall was gone and in its place was the same cat that had been sitting outside the house all day.

Hermione jumped back, her head racing.

"That's more advanced magic," McGonagall said, returning to her human form. "You won't be touching human transfiguration until well into your N.E.W.T. classes your sixth and seventh years."

"You-you really are a witch," Hermione whispered. She couldn't believe she had just uttered that sentence. But there was no other explanation; she had just seen this woman turn into a cat before her very eyes!

"I am," she said kindly. "And you are as well."

"This-this is all impossible," Mrs. Granger said with a strained smile on her face as she looked from Hermione to McGonagall. "For starters, Hermione can't be a witch because-because, well, assuming for arguments sake that there _is_ such a thing as magic, there's never been any history of it in our family!"

"Your daughter has been given a rare gift," McGonagall explained. "And yes, she's the first in your family to be given it, but magic is not solely dependent on blood, despite what many choose to think."

Hermione noticed as she said that last bit, her face seemed to darken a bit.

"Abby," Mr. Granger said softly. "I think this all might just be real."

Mrs. Granger spun around to her husband. "What? Clark, it's-it's preposterous! It's absolutely insane! It's-"

"We've just seen it with our own eyes," he said. "There were no smoke and mirrors here like you see in the circus. I think that might have been…real."

"You-you can't honestly believe that your daughter is a witch?" she sputtered.

"Think back," he said. "What about all those times when she was a toddler and she would wind up on top of the china cabinet or-"

"There-there was obviously another reason for all those things," Mrs. Granger said, though with weaker vindication.

"Mum…it makes sense," Hermione said softly. She turned back to McGonagall. "You-You said Hogwarts was a school where witches and wizards go to learn magic?"

"That is correct," McGonagall nodded. "For seven years you will learn not only how to use your magic, but how to control is as well."

"How would she learn that?" he mum asked slowly.

"There are several classes offered at Hogwarts," McGonagall explained. "The essential ones, such as Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Then there are additional classes you can choose to study after a couple of years. Care of Magical Creatures or Ancient Runes."

Classes? Well, that certainly stuck in Hermione's mind.

McGonagall reached into her bag and handed Hermione a large book.

"_Hogwarts, A History_?" Hermione read, looking at the cover.

"In case you wanted to find out anymore about the school," McGonagall said.

"There's over a thousand pages in this," Mrs. Granger said, opening the book.

"Hogwarts has been around for hundreds of years," McGonagall said. "It's gathered quite a history."

The fact that even in this new, foreign magical world, there were still books to turn to seemed have quite an affect of Mrs. Granger. She looked up at McGonagall.

"If she was to…go to this school," she said. "How would she go about getting ready for it?"

"The books and supplies from the list that arrived with the letters can all be found at Diagon Alley," McGonagall replied. She handed her a small slip of parchment. "There are the directions for how to locate it. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross Station at eleven on the morning of September the first."

Hermione, who was now flipping through the pages of her new book, looked up. "Is this the school?" She showed McGonagall a picture at the beginning of the book of a large, majestic looking castle."

"Yes, it is," she nodded. McGonagall stood up. "Now then, shall I put down that you will be attending Hogwarts at the start of the new term?"

Hermione looked at her parents. "Y-Yes," she answered after a moment.

"Very good," McGonagall said. She looked over at Mr. and Mrs. Granger. "I assume you all have several more questions. However, I'm afraid that I must be on my way. As deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, I need to contact every other potential student from muggle families and have with them the same talk we just had. As I told you earlier, it's not uncommon to experience skepticism. If you need any of your questions answered, please write it down and address it to Hogwarts. An owl will the arrive here shortly after to deliver it to the school."

"I-yes, yes, okay," Mrs. Granger nodded.

"I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts then, Ms. Granger," McGonagall said to Hermione. "I am sure you'll do great things there."

Mr. Granger led her to the door. Hermione watched her walk down the pavement, but when she reached the end, it seemed as though she had vanished into thin air.

"Well," Mr. Granger said, closing the door. "That was certainly…unexpected."

Hermione nodded, her mind spinning.

She was a witch. She was going to Hogwarts. The thought of starting a new school seemed…exciting. Perhaps, she thought the reason that she had never fit in at her primary school was because she was different. At Hogwarts, though, she would be surrounded with students just like her. She would be learning all sorts of interesting things at a new school, and most importantly, this time, she would make sure she would have friends.


End file.
